It has to do with the sky. Its hyper-presence. Or its absence. And then, Men under it. No, within it rather. Yes, this is it, we are living in the sky. Placed on a globe that we barely scratch, but that we torture enough to change its atmosphere. Wherever I travel, I take pictures of the sky, of our common sky, with our architectural scrapes, our minuscule artefacts. We are here, put on the globe, hardly present sometimes, too present often.